


Baking

by tuesday



Category: Little Red Riding Hood (Fairy Tale)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Ambiguous/Open Ending, F/F, Fairy Tale Retellings, Female Big Bad Wolf - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23832181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesday/pseuds/tuesday
Summary: “You’re a good girl,” Grandmother said, patting Red on the head.  “Nothing like me or your mother.  You’ll be fine.”(This was a lie.)
Relationships: Big Bad Wolf/Little Red Riding Hood (Little Red Riding Hood - Fairy Tale), Grandmother & Little Red Riding Hood (Little Red Riding Hood - Fairy Tale)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 45
Collections: What Fen Do (Instead of Going Outside)





	Baking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AmorousGreen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmorousGreen/gifts).



“My darling Red,” Grandmother warned Red when she was still a child, Grandmother’s face a picture of matronly concern as she smoothed down Red’s flyaway frizz and plucked a leaf out from the braid, “you must remember to always stay on the path. Only then can you be safe. Promise me.”

“Yes, Grandmother,” Red agreed. She was a child. She had no interest in the woods, dark and deep, only the bright clear path to Grandmother’s house, where she could share a basket of goodies and play in the flowerbeds of Grandmother’s garden for most of the day before she had to head home to her boring house with her boring father in her boring sleepy little village where the colors were drab and washed out comparing to Grandmother’s sunny yellow cottage and the riot of color that surrounded it. “I promise.”

“You’re a good girl,” Grandmother said, patting Red on the head. “Nothing like me or your mother. You’ll be fine.”

(This was a lie.)

—

If asked, Red would say she first met the Wolf when she was a teenager. She had learned to bake her own goodies and had a basket full of her latest efforts clasped in hand as she strolled leisurely down the path to Grandmother’s house. The woods remained dark and deep, but the path was brightly lit and clear, yellow brick laid out neatly at her feet like it was signposting the way.

A dark shape came bounding out of the woods and skidded to a halt at the boundary where brick ended and the dirt of the woods began. The Wolf’s long silky hair gleamed in the morning light. Her lips curled back to reveal sharp, white teeth. It looked like she was smiling.

(Was this also a lie?)

“Little Red Riding Hood, where are you headed?” the Wolf asked.

“To my grandmother’s house,” Red answered. Grandmother had said not to leave the path, but she had never said anything about talking to wolves.

(This was a mistake.)

“And where does your grandmother live?” the Wolf asked like she didn’t already know everything that inhabited these woods, from the smallest sparrow to the largest groupings of humans that lived within.

“The end of the path,” Red said.

“I know a shortcut,” the Wolf said. “Follow me, Little Red, and I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

“I’m already headed there,” Red said. She looked down at the wicker basket. She had made a lot, more than even a growing teen and a ravenous old woman could eat. She pulled out a goodie, a flaky, slightly misshapen pastry that nevertheless looked and smelled delicious. Her mouth watered just holding it in her hand. She held it out to the Wolf. “Here. For your kindness.”

The Wolf’s nails were long. They scraped lightly against her palm as the Wolf took the pastry but didn’t draw blood. The Wolf’s eyes were as dark and deep as the woods surrounding them as she locked her gaze on Red and opened her sharp-toothed maw wide—wide— _wide_ —and dropped the pastry into the waiting darkness. Red blinked, and the Wolf was dusting the crumbs off her hands, a small, closed-mouth smile gracing her sharp face.

“Many thanks, Little Red,” the Wolf said. “You’re really good. So very sweet. Just the tiniest bit underdone.” For some reason, it didn’t feel like she was talking about Red’s baking skills.

That was the story Red would have told if asked. Fortunately, no one asked.

—

Their actual first meeting, Red was still a child. She was twelve, and the woods were dark and deep, but she was running late to get home. She’d stayed playing in Grandmother’s gardens too long.

The bright clear path home was not straightforward. It meandered. It curved around a gleaming lake Red had only heard stories of from those less cautious than her grandmother, hidden out of sight behind the trees. The path itself was perhaps two miles, maybe a little more, maybe a little less. Red had never measured it. The path a crow could fly between her grandmother’s house and the boring sleepy little village in which she lived was less than a mile.

Grandmother had packed her off with a little goodie basket of her own, worried that she would miss dinner. “Eat it on the road,” Grandmother said.

Red didn’t want to eat it on the road. She didn’t want to miss dinner. She knew the twists and turns of the path and she knew the direction of her house. She left the bright clear path before her and tried to follow the path of the crow.

The woods were dark and deep. Trees and thickets of thorny bushes kept her from pressing forward in a steady, straight line. It was difficult to see where she was going as the canopy overhead smothered the last of the evening sunlight. When Red went to turn back, she realized she couldn’t say in which direction the path actually lay.

In the boring sleepy little village Red had grown up in, her father had always told her that if she got lost, to stop moving, and eventually, someone would find her. This was not that boring sleepy little village, but Red stopped. She sat on the exposed roots of a tree and waited for someone to come find her. Eventually, someone did.

The Wolf had long, dark hair that blended into the dark of the woods. The most visible part of her was her teeth, which gleamed white like a warning. She was not smiling. She said, “What are you doing in my woods?”

“I’m lost,” Red said. She wiped dirty hands against her wet cheeks. “Can you help me?”

The Wolf sat down next to Red and took in a long, deep breath. The Wolf said, “What do you have there?”

“Grandmother sent me home with goodies.” Red opened up the small wicker basket and pulled the cloth aside to show the Wolf. “Would you like to share?”

The Wolf leaned in closer, her breath a hot, wet gust of air against Red’s face, and took another whiff. She said, “Smells underdone.” She leaned back. “Follow me. Just this once, I’ll lead you home.”

—

When Red was a young woman, she was an accomplished baker. Everyone in her village would flock to her boring little house early in the morning, because she woke even earlier and started the day by making several dozen pastries to share. Others provided the ingredients each week, and she provided a hearty morning meal each day. Everyone knew everyone else in her boring sleepy little village, and necessity forced them to get along, but she was especially well-loved. The way to a village’s heart was through the stomach.

One young man claimed to love her more than most. He offered to walk her to her grandmother’s house each day, and each day, she told him she was fine to walk alone. The path was bright and clear, and she’d walked it since she was a small child. The path was safe, and she was safe so long as she walked it.

He never pressed. He was a nice but boring young man with good intentions who reminded Red a bit too much of her nice but boring father who had passed away earlier that year, leaving her this nice but boring house in this nice but boring and sleepy little village.

On this particular morning, she packed up the extras she’d made into a goodie basket and set off for her grandmother’s house. Her grandmother was quiet as they tended the flowers and checked on the bees. Every time she looked at Red, her eyes were sad, thoughtful. When the chores were done, they sat in two wicker chairs on the back porch, facing the woods.

“You remind me so much of your mother,” Grandmother said.

“Was she happy with Father?” Red asked.

Grandmother smiled. She closed her eyes. When she opened them, they were glassy and bright. “No. No, she was not.”

(A part of Red wished that Grandmother had continued to lie.)

They stayed there, sitting in silence on the porch, until the shadows lengthened. It was time for Red to go home.

—

Halfway between Grandmother’s house and the boring sleepy little village where Red had grown up, Red stopped. She waited. With the setting of the sun, the bright clear path she stood upon dimmed, but the moon and stars provided light enough to see.

Eventually, the Wolf came. She stood at the edge of the path and said, “Little Red, I know you’re not lost.”

“I’m not,” Red agreed. She hummed, a considering sound, though she’d already made up her mind. “I’m done baking.”

The Wolf smiled with all her teeth as Red stepped off of the path and let the darkness swallow her whole.


End file.
